Strange Circumstances
by clsymphony
Summary: Tom Riddle is more than ready to leave the orphanage and return for his final year of Hogwarts. But who is this mysterious girl who appeared out of nowhere, and why can't she remember who she is? Time Travel, Girl Harry
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Tom Riddle gazed over the turbulent waves, a scowl on his face. Why everyone seemed to think it was such a wonderful idea to go to the sea, he didn't know. However, although he'd never admit it, it was…nice to get away from the orphanage.

"Riddle, we're leaving." Someone called. Turning around, Tom slowly began walking back toward the rest of the group from the orphanage, wishing he could just walk away, or, better yet, simply apparate.

Suddenly, a loud crack broke the relative silence. Whipping around, ready to release his wand from the holster, Tom scanned the area. In a section of long, brittle-looking grass, a girl, seemingly around his age, was lying unconscious, looking decidedly worse for the wear. She had long, messy black hair, ragged, strange clothes much too large for her frame, and numerous cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over her body.

Tom stared for a moment. "Mrs. Cole!" He called loudly, noticing the girl's shallow breathing. While he could really do without all the rumors that would no doubt surface with his discovery of a girl looking half-dead, and could have easily left her there, Tom was curious. And to find out where this girl—presumably a witch—had come from, he had to keep her close by. Mrs. Cole came scurrying towards him, looking peeved.

"What is it, Riddle?" She snapped. Tom simply pointed. Mrs. Cole shrieked. "What did you do?" Tom sighed, trying to keep up his emotionless façade.

"Nothing. I just found her moments ago." Mrs. Cole looked at him suspiciously. "Ms. Cole, the longer we wait, the worse she'll get. She needs a doctor." Mrs. Cole's nostrils flared—she knew Tom was right.

"Billy! Robert!" She barked. The two boys, who were a bit younger than Tom, appeared in an instant. "This girl, whoever she is, needs medical attention. Take off your jackets to carry her. You as well, Riddle."

Billy and Robert moved quickly, and began carrying the girl. Tom followed, his mind racing. The best plan seemed to be contacting Headmaster Dippet, telling him what happened.

The girl was a witch, he was sure of it, and Tom could practically feel the need for more information burning into his core. Snapping out of his thoughts, Tom strode over to Mrs. Cole, who was trying to figure out whether or not the girl was from the village.

"Mrs. Cole," He said. The old woman looked at him, scowling. "I'm sorry, but I've only just realized that this girl goes to my school." Tom lied smoothly. Mrs. Cole narrowed her eyes.

"Why didn't you recognize her before?"

"I'm not exactly close to her, and we don't have many classes together." Tom began. "Not to mention that at the moment, she looks as though Death itself has chewed her up and spat her back out again."

"Fine. Then you contact your school and have them come collect her." Mrs. Cole grumbled. Tom saw an opportunity.

"Mrs. Cole, my school is a bit old-fashioned, and I'm afraid they don't have any telephones. The only way to get in touch would be to write." Mrs. Cole frowned.

"Where's your school, again?"

"Scotland." Mrs. Cole thought for a moment.

"You stay here and write to your bloody school, then." She spat out. "You're on your own for finding transportation, though." Tom nodded, his face a mask. Soon enough, he was watching everyone from the orphanage leave to return to London.

The smallest shadow of a smile crossed his features. For a short time at least, he was free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Figured I should probably put a disclaimer-I own nothing! Just having fun with this. **

Chapter 2

After sending his letter to Headmaster Dippet, Tom found himself sitting in the girl's room, waiting for her to wake up. According to the women who'd cleaned her up, the girl had been in terrible shape, being "far too thin, for one", and having numerous cuts, bruises, and scars. Most noticeable of all was the lightning scar on her forehead, and the words "I must not tell lies" engraved on the back of her right hand. Not only that, but Tom had noticed how pale the girl looked, almost as if she rarely saw the sun.

How long would it take the letter to get to Hogwarts? Tom wondered. He knew there were wizards working in post offices, but one never knew when or if they would actually do their job. Standing up, Tom was just opening the door to leave the room when the girl started shrieking in her sleep.

"What's happenin'?" The innkeeper cried out, barging into the room, nearly running over Tom. The girl screamed again, thrashing about in the bed. The innkeeper stared.

"You try an' stop 'er," He hollered. "I'll get my wife!" Tom stared after the man as he bolted out of the room, before he managed to snap out of his thoughts—mainly about how useless the muggle was. The girl was going to hurt herself if she kept thrashing about like that, he realized. Tom tried grabbing at the girl's wrists.

"Would you just stop?" He hissed angrily. "You're going to hurt yourself!" The girl's eyes snapped open—they were the most brilliant green, almost like emeralds.

"Don't let them!" She pleaded frantically, now grasping Tom's shirt. "Please, help me!"

"Alright!" Tom said, now trying to loosen the girl's grip.

"Please!"

"I will!" Tom said quickly. The girl stared at him blankly for a moment, and her eyes drifted shut again. The innkeeper and his wife cautiously entered the room.

"What happened?" The innkeeper's wife asked tremulously.

"I'm guessing a nightmare." Tom stated quietly, keeping his face blank.

* * *

After the girl's episode, Tom wouldn't leave her room, insisting on keeping an eye on her. After all, he thought, what if she began doing magic? However, ever since the incident, the girl had been still as death—if it weren't for the fact that Tom could see her breathing, she could have easily been mistaken for a corpse.

It seemed like eternity to Tom, but in reality, it was only a few hours before someone from the school finally showed up. And who came? Professor Dumbledore.

"Hello, Tom." Dumbledore said as he was shown in by the innkeeper, who quickly left.

"Sir," Tom nodded slightly, not wanting to talk him. Dumbledore glanced around the room.

"And this must be the mystery girl." He said quietly, and looked at Tom. "Your letter was rather vague, my boy. Could you tell me what happened, once more?"

"I was about to leave when I heard a noise. It sounded as though someone had apparated. I looked around, and she was just lying on the ground, unconscious." Dumbledore nodded slowly, and then pulled out his wand, and silently cast a few spells.

"It seems you were correct, Tom." He said calmly. "She is a witch, like you thought."

"Why hasn't she gotten up, though?" Tom asked. The creases on Dumbledore's brow deepened slightly.

"I'm afraid I'm not nearly as good at diagnostic or healing spells as Madame Jones, Tom." He admitted. "Has she woken at all?"

"Once," Tom replied. "But it was only for a few moments."

"Did she say anything?" Dumbledore inquired.

"She was panicking," Tom said. "She didn't tell me anything." Dumbledore was silent for a moment.

"Are you taking her to St. Mungo's?" Tom asked.

"I'm afraid not, my boy." Dumbledore replied. "Due to the fact that we don't know her name, or anything about her, Madame Jones will be looking after her at Hogwarts." He pulled out a pocket watch.

"Dear me, look at the time." Dumbledore muttered, seeming a bit surprised. "Past time for me to leave. If I'm not back soon, Madame Jones shall have my head." Tom spoke up.

"What am I to do?" He was hoping that he wouldn't need to return quite so soon to the orphanage.

"I'm afraid you'll have to go back to London, Tom." Dumbledore said heavily. "However," he added, a twinkle in his eyes. "You may want to take your time returning, so as not to arouse any kind of suspicions." Tom nodded, making sure to keep his face as emotionless as possible, like always.

* * *

After sending Tom on his way, Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts with the girl. Very soon, Madame Jones had an answer as to why the girl wasn't waking up.

"She seems to have had a few too many blows to the head." She said solemnly. "I'm not sure what sort of side effects they'll cause. Not only that," Madame Jones continued. "but it seems as if her magic is severely depleted for some reason—I'm guessing from protecting herself." Headmaster Dippet frowned.

"And we still don't know who she is?" The nurse shook her head. "Or when she'll wake up?" Dippet pressed.

"I'm afraid not, Headmaster." Madame Jones said quietly. "We'll just have to wait."

* * *

Nearly a week later, the nameless girl began to stir, alerting Madame Jones. Opening her bright green eyes, the girl looked around in confusion.

"Hello, dear," The mediwitch said gently. "How are you feeling?" The girl looked at her.

"Where am I?" She rasped.

"The hospital wing in Hogwarts." Madame Jones stated.

"Ah, she's awake." Dumbledore strode in, smiling broadly. The girl stared—and with good reason, too. The transfiguration teacher was wearing mustard-yellow robes, which somehow managed to not clash with his slowly graying auburn hair.

"Who are you?" The girl asked, her brows furrowing in thought. She felt as though she should know who this strange man was.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, my dear." Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And if I may ask, who might you be?" The girl blinked.

"Er…" Madame Jones looked slightly worried. "…Camellia." The girl managed.

"Couldn't you remember, child?" Madame Jones asked, looking concerned. Camellia looked at her, eyes wide with fright.

"I still can't," She admitted softly. "I—I don't remember anything else, just—"

"Calm down, Camellia." Madame Jones said quickly, sitting on the bed next to the girl. "Try to remember one thing at a time." The girl stared out one of the windows.

"My name is Camellia…" She trailed off. Professor Dumbledore spoke up.

"If you don't remember, just move on, child." Camellia took a deep breath.

"I'm fifteen…almost sixteen, I think…"She looked at Dumbledore and Madame Jones. "I think magic is real." She whispered, sounding almost awestruck at the idea.

"It is." Madame Jones said, giving Camellia a smile.

"Hogwarts, where you are now, is a school for wizardry and witchcraft." Dumbledore said proudly. "However, muggles—non-magic people—don't know about magic."

"I think I remember," Camellia said slowly. "I remember that, but not much else."


	3. Chapter 3

**Do I have to do a disclaimer for every chapter? I still don't own Harry Potter.**

Chapter 3

Over the next few days, the staff that had remained at Hogwarts over the summer holidays attempted to help Camellia remember. Nothing seemed to help. However, when offered the opportunity to stay at Hogwarts and become a student, she eagerly agreed.

"Perhaps Tom Riddle could help to prepare her for school, see what level she's at." Dippet said at dinner one day.

"Who?" Camellia asked.

"A star pupil—he'll be head boy this next year. Also the one who found you." Camellia's eyes widened.

"Maybe he could help me remember." She said excitedly.

"That may not be the most likely occurrence." Dumbledore warned. Camellia shrugged it off.

"I should at least thank him." She looked at the headmaster. "Could I ask him to teach me, sir?" Dippet smiled.

"I don't see why not."

* * *

The very next morning, Camellia found herself in London, having been given directions by Professor Dumbledore. She looked at the orphanage. It looks so dreary, she thought. Knocking on the door, Camellia was greeted by a cross-looking middle-aged woman.

"Who are you?" She asked abruptly.

"Er, I'm Camellia, and I'm here to see Tom Riddle." Camellia said, taken aback. The woman—no doubt Mrs. Cole—squinted at her.

"Oh, you're that girl that he found." She realized. Camellia forced a smile.

"Yeah, er…could I see Tom, then?"

"He's out back in the yard." Mrs. Cole jerked her head. Nodding her thanks, Camellia headed out into the yard.  
The grass was cut, there was a small garden of sorts, and a few worn-out toys lying here and there, but as a whole, it seemed rather lifeless. Looking about, she noticed a small, less well-kept area in the back, where several trees had grown. Slowly making her way back there, as she drew closer, Camellia could see a boy, no doubt Tom, reading a thick tome.

He had black hair that was slightly curly and parted at the side, pale skin, was slender, and he looked like when he stood up, he'd be rather tall.

"Excuse me, but are you Tom?" A familiar voice pulled Tom away from his Ancient Runes textbook. Looking up, he locked eyes with the girl from the sea, looking much better than before, with her hair combed and pulled out of her face, and wearing a simple gray dress.

"You are Tom, aren't you?" She asked, sounding unsure.

"Yes," He said quickly, recovering from the surprise of her appearance. "What are you doing here?" She looked down bashfully.

"Headmaster Dippet said that you found me…I wanted to thank you." The girl looked straight into Tom's eyes with her final words.

"You're welcome." Tom said.

"I'm Camellia, by the way," The girl said after a short silence, sticking her hand out. Tom took it.

"Camellia…?" He trailed off. Camellia looked at her feet.

"That's all I can really remember." She admitted. "Whatever happened to me resulted in my losing most of my memories. None of the professors have been able to help bring them back." Tom frowned.

"That's all you remember? Just your first name?" Camellia tentatively sat on the bench next to Tom.

"I remember that I'm almost sixteen, my name's Camellia, and that magic exists. Not much else." Tom looked at her shrewdly.

"Did you really only come here to thank me?"

"I was hoping that meeting my rescuer would jog my memories." Camellia admitted sheepishly. "But even so, I would have wanted to say thank you." Suddenly, they heard some of the children calling out to one another.

"They're all coming outside now." Tom said flatly, snapping his book shut. Camellia looked at him appraisingly.

"…you feel trapped here, don't you?" It was more of a statement than a question. Tom ignored her, packing up his homework. Camellia hesitantly tapped him on the shoulder, trying to get Tom to look at her.

"What?" He said crossly.

"You might be able to get out of here." Tom looked at her. "Headmaster Dippet said that I could go to school at Hogwarts this fall. However," Camellia continued. "because of my memory loss, we're not sure what level I'm at. The headmaster suggested that I get a tutor—he recommended you." Tom let himself smile faintly. "You'd be at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer." Camellia said, grinning slightly at him. Tom simply nodded—he didn't have to say anything.

**Hello! Figured I should just say that updates may be a bit sporadic. I'll try my best, but my life can be a bit hectic. And the chapters might be a bit short...I'm sorry, I just stop when it seems to be a good place. I also wanted to say thanks to everyone who's read this, reviewed, favorited, followed...you guys are absolutely fantastic, and I really appreciate all of you. Have a wonderful day!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Sorry, I feel like it's been too long since I last posted. But, happily enough, this is a longer chapter. (For me at least) I still don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 4

After leaving the orphanage, Camellia and Tom went to Diagon Alley. Camellia had received money from the school for supplies, and she desperately needed a wand.

Walking into Ollivander's, Camellia had a feeling of déjà vu. Something just felt familiar for some reason—it was unsettling.

"Well, what have we here?" A man—presumably Ollivander—popped his head out from behind a shelf. Ignoring his eccentric, fly-away silvery hair, the oddest thing about his appearance had to be his wide, pale, unblinking eyes.

"Tom! Good to see you." Ollivander hurried out to shake his hand. "Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, correct?" Tom nodded. Ollivander turned to Camellia. "I'm afraid I don't know you, young lady."

"Just call me Camellia." Ollivander looked at her intently. "Are you alright, sir?" Camellia asked nervously. The old man started.

"Of course, my apologies. Now, why have the two of you come here?"

"I need a wand, sir." Camellia said bluntly. Ollivander smiled.

"Yes, I supposed so. A bit unusual, though, for someone to need a wand after the age of eleven." Ollivander got to work. He tried wand after wand after wand. None seemed to fit Camellia at all. Some wands reacted incredibly badly—one had nearly blown up, which Ollivander had merely chuckled about. Eventually, Camellia turned to Tom, who was sitting on a chair near the door with a faint air of both amusement and boredom about him.

"Should we come back another day?" She asked wearily.

"What would be the good in that?" Tom asked, raising an eyebrow. Camellia shrugged.

"Try this one." Camellia turned around. "Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather, nice and supple…" Ollivander trailed off. Camellia cautiously took the wand.

The instant she touched the wood, a feeling of warmth, happiness, and familiarity spread throughout her body, and the wand began to glow a bright golden sort of color. Camellia beamed at Tom and Ollivander. With the wand came a feeling of rightness, as if it belonged to her—had always belonged to her.

"Curious," Ollivander muttered to himself, starting to clear up the failed wands.

"Sorry, what?" Camellia asked, once more feeling a bit of déjà vu. "You said 'curious'. What's curious?" Ollivander paused to look at Camellia.

"I remember all of the wands I've sold, Miss Camellia, as well as what they are, and how I made them. The phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave but one other feather. That feather resides in Mr. Riddle's wand. Your wands are brothers." Tom and Camellia looked at each other.

"What does that mean?" Camellia finally asked, looking back at Ollivander. The old man shrugged.

"Who knows for sure?" He said wearily. "However, I think it means that somehow, your destinies are intertwined." Camellia frowned.

"Intertwined how?" Ollivander shrugged again.

"I suppose that depends on the two of you."

* * *

Once the wand was paid for, Camellia and Tom found themselves ordering a late lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. They just sat in silence, chewing their food, until Tom finally broke the silence.

"Brother wands." Camellia nodded, trying to swallow. "What could that mean, though?" Tom mused.

"Something about it sounds familiar," Camellia said. "But I can't remember why." She held her head in her hands. "Not being able to remember things is really bothering me."

"He said that having these wands meant that our destinies were intertwined somehow." Tom said thoughtfully. Camellia let out a little snort. "You don't think he's right?" Tom asked.

"I think we forge our own destinies." Camellia said bluntly.

"You sound very certain about that."

"It's one thing that I know I believe." Camellia replied. "Maybe fate did guide us, making us cross paths. _Maybe_. But whatever happens, in the end, we are the ones who decide where to go." Tom looked at Camellia appraisingly.

"What?" She asked, noticing his stare.

"Nothing." Tom tilted his head to the side. "Have you been sorted yet?" Camellia shook her head.

"For some reason, I haven't been. Hopefully soon, though."

"Have you even heard about the houses?" Tom asked.

"A bit," Camellia replied. "But most of the time it's just the professors guessing which house I'll be in." Tom leaned back in his chair, staring at her.

"I wonder which it'll be." He mused.

"Which house are you?" Camellia asked.

"Slytherin." Tom took a sip of his drink.

"What are the characteristics of Slytherin?"

"We're known for cunning and ambition, mainly." Tom paused. Camellia looked at him shrewdly.

"Why do I get the feeling that there's more to it than that?" Tom looked at her blankly.

"We have a reputation for being dark, supremacist, backstabbing purebloods." He stated calmly. Camellia raised an eyebrow.

"That's…interesting." She managed, not sure how to respond. "What about the other houses?"

"Well, there's also Ravenclaw, which is frankly full of strange people. That's the house for people who learn simply for the sake of leaning—it's called the smartest house."

"Lots of pressure for them, isn't it?" Camellia commented. Tom nodded.

"The next house is Hufflepuff. Supposedly those sorted into it are hardworking, fair, and loyal. However, it's also known as the reject house, or the house for the leftovers, who frankly aren't good enough for any other house." Camellia frowned at that. "Finally," Tom continued. "There's Gryffindor." He paused.

"What's Gryffindor?" Camellia prompted.

"It's said that Gryffindor is for the chivalrous, the brave, and daring. But for the most part, they think they're better than any of the other houses and can be complete overemotional morons. Also, Slytherin and Gryffindor have had a rivalry since the school was formed." Tom finished. Camellia took a sip of her drink.

"I wonder where I'd fit," She mused. Tom brought his hands together in front of his face, looking almost as if he were in prayer.

"You seem curious and reasonably intelligent. Perhaps Ravenclaw would suit you." Camellia thought for a moment.

"But how do we know whether or not my curiosity is really…real?" She asked. "Maybe it's just a side effect of having losing my memory."

"Challenging someone's point of view—maybe Gryffindor." Tom said calmly. Camellia grinned.

"Whatever house I end up in, it'll be interesting."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everyone. This chapter is a bit short, even for me. (sorry!) I have a ton of homework to do, so updates might be a bit slower than they have been. But I hope you enjoy this bit, and reviews are always appreciated. Have a lovely day! **

Chapter 5

After returning to Hogwarts, Tom began teaching Camellia. To her delight, Camellia seemed to be not far off from her age group. She was close to average in most classes, happily, and a natural at Defense. The most work to be done, however, was in potions.

"Did you learn next to nothing about potions wherever you're from?" Tom asked one day, amazed at Camellia's failure. Camellia scowled at her cauldron.

"I have some idea of what I'm supposed to do," She muttered angrily. "But something just doesn't make sense." Tom vanished the odious contents of the cauldron.

"Let's just go over the basics," He stated firmly.

As it turned out, the basics of potion-making were precisely where Camellia's knowledge was lacking. Thanks to Tom's tutoring, Camellia would be able to take NEWT level potions, having achieved an E on her exam set by Professor Slughorn. In fact, for the coming school year, Camellia had decided to take Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology. She'd thought that Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures sounded interesting, but had very little knowledge of magical creatures aside from a few strange tidbits, and absolutely no idea of how to translate runes.

Aside from plain school lessons, Tom had—at Camellia's insistence and Dumbledore's encouragement—given Camellia flying lessons. Not that she'd needed any. The instant that Camellia was on a broom, she became a blur, almost seeming to be one with the wind. Whenever the girl seemed to be missing, or failed to show up to wherever she was expected, she could almost always be found flying about the quidditch pitch.

* * *

"You still don't remember your name, do you?" Tom asked one morning at breakfast. Camellia shook her head regretfully. "Then what will you introduce yourself as? You can't be 'just Camellia' until you've got your memory back…" Tom's voice seemed to fade away as his words triggered some sort of flashback in Camellia's mind.

_There was a thunderstorm outside—it sounded as if she were on the ocean. A large man—terrifying at first glance—was smiling down at her. _

_"I think you've got the wrong person," Camellia heard herself say. "I'm Camellia…just Camellia."_

_"Well, 'just Camellia'," The man said. "Yeh ever make strange, unexplainable things happen?"_

"Camellia?" The girl snapped out of her trance. Tom was looking at her—perhaps not with concern, but more with curiosity. "What happened?" Camellia blinked a few times, looking around her. "Camellia?"

"I think I just remembered something…" Camellia whispered uncertainly.

"What was it?" Tom prompted.

"I—I think it was someone telling me I was magic—I told him he'd made a mistake—that I was just Camellia…" Tom looked at Camellia.

"So you're a muggleborn?" Camellia frowned slightly.

"I don't know…" She said softly. In the darkest recesses of her mind, Camellia saw a flash of eerie green light. "I think my parents died when I was young." There was an awkward silence between the two teenagers for a few moments. Then,

"Should I just pick out my own surname?"


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm back! And procrastinating when it comes to homework. Anyways, this chapter's longer-I think it might actually be the longest yet. Woohoo! Well, I still don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you guys like the new chapter. Have a wonderful day lovelies!**

Before long, it was September 1st, and the two students found themselves at Platform 9¾. Once again, Camellia felt as though something was achingly familiar about her surroundings. However, with all of the clamor and commotion, she wasn't able to dwell on it for long.

Once on the train, Camellia uncertainly trailed after Tom, not sure where to go. As she followed him, Camellia couldn't help but notice that as Tom walked through the train, everyone seemed to part around him, becoming much more subdued, until after he had passed them by. Finally, Tom came to an empty compartment, and acknowledged Camellia's presence.

"You can put your things in here," He said, seeming almost unnoticeably cross. "unless you're going to another compartment." Camellia fidgeted a bit.

"Is that alright for you?"

"I'll be dealing with the prefects most of the time," Tom stated. "And—"

"Tom!" The duo turned and saw a girl with a pleasant face and dark brown, wavy hair in two low pigtails.

"Parkinson." Tom replied, nodding his head. The girl mock-frowned for a moment.

"Tom, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Rose."

"How many times must I tell you that I will always forget?" Tom replied easily, putting his items in the luggage rack.

"Oh, sorry, but who might you be?" Camellia suddenly found herself to be the object of Rose's attention.

"Er—"

"This is Camellia Wheatley, a new student. She'll be in the sixth year." Tom said shortly. Rose looked at Camellia's simple attire appraisingly.

"Sorted yet?" Camellia shook her head.

"The headmaster said something about meeting all of the houses first, without any prejudices." Rose shook her head.

"Inter-house unity. It won't happen anytime soon. People are too proud and stubborn."

"Oi! You're blocking the corridors!" Someone yelled.

"Parkinson, would you mind taking Camellia to sit with you? I have Head duties." Rose nodded, smiling a bit.

"Follow me." Camellia followed Rose to a compartment with two other people in it. One was a boy who promptly jumped up to put Camellia's belongings in the luggage rack.

"Thanks," Camellia said, a bit surprised.

"Margaret, Mark, this is Camellia Wheatley. She'll be joining the sixth years." Rose began. "Camellia, this is Mark Greyson, a Ravenclaw, and Margaret Davies, a Slytherin like myself and Tom."

"Nice to meet you." Camellia said quietly. Rose sat down next to the other girl in the compartment—Margaret.

"You're allowed to sit down, Miss Wheatley." Stated Mark, a seemingly ever-present smile on his face. "We don't bite." A smile crossed Camellia's face as she sat next to the boy.

"You can call me Camellia," She said, taking in the appearances of her new acquaintances. Rose was nice looking, with a bit of an upturned nose, wavy, dark brown hair and equally dark eyes, along with her rather petite stature. The most striking aspect of Rose's features, however, was simply the air of effortless elegance that seemed to radiate off of her.

Margaret looked more athletic somehow, and had relatively straight, dark blonde hair and warm brown eyes. However, she didn't seem to pull off the same casual elegance as Rose, and—if the way she had yet to smile was any indication—wasn't exactly a cheerful person.

Mark, on the other hand, had yet to stop smiling. He had an athletic build, with a rather square jaw, and light brown hair and jade-colored eyes.

"Why are you here?" Camellia snapped out of her thoughts and focused on Margaret, who was now looking at her curiously.

"That's a bit rude," Rose whispered audibly, elbowing Margaret gently. Camellia shook her head.

"No, it's alright." She said. "It's just a bit complicated."

"Grindelwald?" Mark asked sympathetically.

"Er, I'm not completely sure." Camellia fidgeted. "I kind of lost my memories somehow."

"What year will you be in, again?" Margaret asked, starting to look interested.

"Don't start, Maggie." Mark said, pulling a face. Rose smiled a bit.

"Start what?" Camellia wondered out loud.

"Whenever something odd has happened, or if there's a mystery of some kind, Margaret usually tries to figure out the answer." Rose chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"You have to admit that it's interesting." Margaret defended herself. "Besides, trying to solve mysteries and figure out the unknown could be good practice for when I become an Unspeakable."

"An Unspeakable?" Something was nagging at the back of Camellia's mind.

"They work in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry. No one really knows for sure what they get up to, but…" Margaret's words seemed to fade away as Camellia found herself falling into whispers of her forgotten past.

_A round room with spinning doors, aisles of shelves full of shining orbs, an empty room with an archway in the center, the veil swaying to an unfelt breeze…and pain. Not completely physical pain, although that was present as well. The soul-wrenching pain of loss…_

"Camellia?" The green-eyed girl shook herself and looked around the compartment. Rose, Margaret, and Mark were staring at her, looking concerned.

"Are you alright?" Rose asked. "You look a bit pale." Camellia took a deep breath.

"Sorry. I'm fine, really."

"What happened?" Margaret asked.

"Er…I get these sort of…flashbacks once in a while." The others looked interested. "Just random fragments of memory, as far as I can tell."

"What was this one?" Margaret asked, almost vibrating with curiosity.

"I…I think I lost someone," Camellia said haltingly. "Someone important to me…" Mark put his hand on her shoulder hesitantly as the three murmured their condolences. The compartment lapsed into a semi-awkward silence for a minute or two.

"What I'd like to know, for one," Rose began. "Is why Tom Riddle called you Camellia instead of Miss Wheatley." Camellia squirmed under their gaze.

"Does it really matter?" Rose and Margaret nodded decisively in response.

"The two of us are in Slytherin as well, remember?" Margaret said, motioning at herself and Rose. "And we've had a few years to observe Riddle. He calls very few people by anything other than their surname."

"He must have only just met you," Rose spoke up. "and yet he's calling you Camellia."

"Now that I think of it," Mark mused. "that is a bit odd."

"D'you think he fancies her?" Margaret asked playfully, a grin finally lighting up her features.

"I don't know," Rose replied, an identical smile on her face. Camellia squirmed a bit, feeling uncomfortable with all of the attention.

"There's nothing going on between us." She said finally. "At least, not like that. Tom came to Hogwarts earlier in the summer to tutor me and make sure that I'd be able to do well in my classes, because the professors were busy."

"Think she's protesting too much?" Mark asked teasingly. Rose and Margaret nodded, still smiling.

"Will you stop!" Camellia exclaimed good-naturedly. " I mean really, you—"

"Candy from the trolley, dears?"

With the attention of the other three off of her, Camellia settled back into her seat. After the trolley had passed, Mark, Margaret, and Rose had moved on to other topics, talking about their summers, regaling Camellia with tales of their previous years at Hogwarts, and more. Hours passed, with the countryside growing wilder and the sky darkening.

When the train finally arrived at the station, Camellia nervously followed her new friends off the train, towards the carriages, which she'd been told were horseless. However, when Camellia saw the carriages, she stopped and stared. Skeletal, winged horses—thestrals, her mind seemed to whisper to her—were attached to each carriage, snorting and pawing at the ground. Everyone passed them by, almost like the muggles outside of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Getting into a carriage?" Camellia jumped and turned around. Tom was standing right behind her. The boy nodded to an open carriage. "Best be getting a move on, Camellia." Camellia flushed, realizing the others were waiting for her.

"Right." She turned to go. "I'll see you inside." Camellia called over her shoulder. Then she was on her way, back to the castle that she'd already come to think of as her home.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm not dead! So sorry that it's been such a long time-finals to study for, papers to write...I haven't had much extra time on my hands. Things should pick up again, but I likely won't be able to put up another chapter until after the first week of May or so...Anyways, enjoy the chapter, and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day. **

Chapter Seven

When the carriage arrived at the castle, Camellia was the last one out. For some reason, she found herself inexplicably nervous.

"Miss Wheatley," Professor Dumbledore was waiting near the doors. Camellia silently walked over to him. "The headmaster has decided that you will be sorted before the first years." Camellia nodded jerkily. Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Camellia managed. "Just…nervous." Dumbledore chuckled.

"There's nothing to worry about, child." Soon, everyone had filed into the Great Hall. Dumbledore glanced over at Camellia, the ever-present twinkle in his eye clearly visible. "It's time."

Camellia nodded, her mouth drying out. Following Dumbledore in, Camellia could feel the eyes of the entire school on her. Barely hearing Headmaster Dippet's words to the student body, Camellia sat on a stool, and the Sorting Hat was placed on her head.

"Aren't you a puzzle…" Camellia jumped. "No need to be frightened, I just need to figure you out." Camellia could practically hear the hat muttering to itself. "Humph, this is strange," It mused.

"What?" Camellia thought.

"I have no idea of how you lost your memory, child."

"Why were you looking?" Camellia felt slightly alarmed.

"Memories are generally found inside someone's mind, Miss Camellia. Also, while I don't necessarily need to use them, memories help me understand where a child belongs, or where they should be."

"So you can still sort me, even without my memories?" Camellia heard a chuckle from the hat.

"Yes. I just find it easier to use memories along with everything else I can glean from your mind. Much more reliable in my opinion, though often biased." Camellia shifted on the stool.

"Sorry, but do you think you could just sort me?" The hat chuckled again.

"Well, slightly impatient, almost always honest, loyal, clever, brave, ambitious…part of me is convinced you're a Gryffindor, but…"

"But what?"

"…I don't know what you've been through, but battles always leave marks, even when forgotten. You're a survivor, child. You're brave, and would sacrifice yourself for others in a heartbeat. But even so, you've found a way to survive. That's why I've decided…SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted out the last word to the Great Hall. Standing up shakily, Camellia, amid the muted applause, walked over to the Slytherin table, sitting next to Rose, who was across the table from Margaret. Camellia glanced around the table, her eyes momentarily stopping at Tom, who seemed to give a small nod in her direction before looking back to the first years that still hadn't been sorted yet.

The rest of the Sorting seemed to pass in a blur, and then the Headmaster stood to give a small speech. Not much was said—the Heads, Tom and some Gryffindor girl—Camellia didn't catch her name, were introduced, and the students were told to behave. Then, finally, food appeared on the tables.

"What took so long in your sorting?" Margaret asked, helping herself to a roll. Camellia looked up.

"How long did it take?" She asked curiously.

"Around seven minutes, by my watch." Margaret replied.

"You actually timed it?"

"She likes to see what the record is each year. We still don't know why." Rose stated calmly, helping herself to some stew.

"Well?" Margaret persisted.

"The hat just said I could've gone into at least one other house, but actually, for the most part we were just sort of talking."

"You were just talking to the Sorting Hat?" Margaret sounded dubious. Camellia raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. If you hadn't realized, I've got next to no memories, and that hat can see into a person's mind." Margaret raised her hands, admitting defeat.

The rest of the feast passed rather quickly. Not many people in Slytherin introduced themselves to Camellia—who didn't exactly feel like going down the Slytherin table sticking her hand into people's faces herself. As Rose had whispered to Camellia, once they got to the Common Room, that would be a different story—most people in the house were likely curious. After being told, Camellia felt as though there were a thousand butterflies in her stomach, and couldn't bring herself to finish the treacle tart on her plate.

Finally, the food vanished from the plates, and Headmaster Dippet stood once again, to dismiss the sleepy crowds. Staying close to Rose and Margaret, Camellia could faintly hear Tom calling out to the Slytherin first-years. The Slytherins all went out of the Great Hall, and descended into the dungeons. Eventually the crowd paused near a seemingly blank wall.

"Parseltongue." Someone said. Rose nudged Camellia.

"Remember that," she murmured. "That's the password to get in." Camellia nodded, suddenly nervous. Going through the doorway, Camellia stared at the Common Room, being pulled along by Margaret and Rose. Part of the room made Camellia think of dungeons—where they were, she reminded herself. There were round, green lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and aside from the dungeon-like feel, the Common Room was really quite grand-looking.

'Not right,' a voice in Camellia's mind whispered softly. Margaret nudged Camellia.

"Here's Slughorn," Margaret said quietly. "he'll be telling the firsties the rules." Camellia nodded, not really listening, just gazing around the room.

"Camellia!" Margaret whispered harshly, elbowing the girl in the side. "Wake up!"

"I wasn't sleeping." Retorted Camellia quietly, who then noticed the younger children going into the dorms. She sighed inwardly.

'Well,' she thought. 'let the games begin.'

* * *

Some span of time later, Camellia lay on her side in her bed, grateful for a bit of quiet. She was lucky to know Tom, Rose, and Margaret, she thought sleepily. The other Slytherins respected those three to some extent, and would at least be civil to Camellia because of her connections to them. At first, after Slughorn had left, most of the other Slytherins had converged on Camellia, wanting to know everything about her—family, previous school, where she lived—it had been disconcerting to say the least.

With Margaret, Rose, and Tom—especially Tom—helping Camellia out, the Slytherins had accepted that Camellia was a mystery, and moved on. That's when the other sixth-year girls had dragged Camellia into the dorms, intent on quizzing her about her knowledge of fads, teaching her of the school's social hierarchy, and asking—Merlin knows why, Camellia grumbled to herself—about Tom.

Camellia punched her pillow, trying to get more comfortable. She didn't understand why everyone wanted to know about herself and Tom. Weren't there more interesting things to talk about? But no, all that the other girls had wanted to know were ridiculous things like, 'Is he as serious outside of school as he seems here?' or—a popular one—'Why does he call you Camellia?'. Camellia huffed and rolled onto her back. The most popular question, though, had been whether or not anything 'romantic' was going on between them.

"Just because he calls me by my first name means nothing!" Camellia wanted to scream. She rolled onto her side again. She'd be lying if she said that she didn't find Tom attractive. Besides just being handsome, he just seemed to be…wonderful. He had found her, and made sure that she'd be taken care of. He didn't treat Camellia like she was made of glass, as she had been when she first woke up. Tom was constantly challenging her, making her realize that there was more to her than she had thought.

Camellia blushed, glad no one could see. Tom was incredible, and if she was honest with herself, she certainly fancied him. But…Camellia hugged her pillow, thinking. There was something about Tom—she wasn't quite sure what it was—that set her slightly on edge. He didn't scare her, but Camellia just had a feeling, an instinct that she'd best be wary around him.

She rubbed her forehead absentmindedly, stopping when she felt her scar. Camellia still didn't remember where she'd gotten any of her scars. While they didn't bother her for the most part, she found the scar on the back of her right hand to be slightly disturbing. 'I must not tell lies'. Camellia rolled onto her stomach, still clutching her pillow. Why would that be carved into her hand? And—this was the most disturbing bit—why was it written in her own handwriting? Had she done something to herself?

Camellia shut her eyes tightly. 'Stop it, just stop.' she reprimanded herself. 'It's no use worrying about it now.' Camellia sighed. She had class in the morning, she needed to sleep. After more tossing and turning, Camellia finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of red eyes, toads wearing bows, and flashes of green light, all to be forgotten in the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, I know it's been a while, and this is a bit of a short chapter. However, I do have several excuses, but I'll leave that for the bottom of the page. Sorry about the wait!**

Chapter 8

The next morning, Camellia woke early. Glancing at a clock, she sighed, realizing there really wasn't any point to trying to sleep anymore. After slowly getting dressed, Camellia left the Slytherin dungeon and found her way to the Great Hall. Not many people were up—a Gryffindor or two, a couple of Hufflepuffs, a few Ravenclaws, and two Slytherins—some first year, and Tom. Camellia quietly made her way to the Slytherin table.

"Mind if I sit here?" Tom looked up from his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook.

"Go ahead." He said, looking back at his book. Camellia sat down opposite Tom, and helped herself to some toast and jam. A few minutes passed in silence.

"Why are you up so early?" Tom asked, his eyes never leaving his book.

"Didn't sleep very well." Camellia answered.

"Is that common?" Tom asked, finally looking up. Camellia shrugged.

"I don't always get that much sleep. Usually it's just because my mind is too busy."

"With what?" Camellia looked up from her toast.

"Sorry?"

"What could have kept you up?" Camellia looked down at her breakfast.

"Just…things." She knew that Tom wouldn't be satisfied with that answer. "I…I want to know how I got my scars." Camellia said reluctantly. "And I did practically get ambushed by the girls in my dorm." Tom smirked.

"How could being ambushed by them possibly keep you awake?" Camellia raised her eyebrows disbelievingly.

"You didn't have to put up with them! They had to make sure that I understood all the new fads and junk in fashion, for who knows what reason, they tried to make me memorize 'who's who' in the school, and, to top it all off, they just wouldn't stop asking questions!" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" Camellia realized how she must have sounded, and sheepishly scratched at the back of her head.

"It was just really…irritating." She said. Tom opened his mouth to ask another question, but closed it abruptly when someone dropped into the spot next to Camellia.

"Abraxas," Tom nodded towards the newcomer. Camellia looked at the boy—he was likely a sixth or seventh year, with dark gray eyes, a pale complexion, and light blonde hair. He bowed his head slightly towards Tom, then turned to Camellia.

"Abraxas Malfoy, Miss Wheatley."

"Nice to meet you." Camellia said uncertainly. Not knowing what else to do, she turned back to her breakfast. It seemed as though the arrival of Abraxas had opened the floodgates for the rest of the boys in Slytherin, especially the upper-years. Tom's attention was soon taken from his book to the others who—though obviously tired—all seemed to be vying for his attention.

Camellia hunched her shoulders, feeling decidedly out of place surrounded by so many people she didn't know. Rose and Margaret eventually appeared, sitting at the end of the table. Camellia almost waved, but, feeling as conspicuous as she did, decided not to. Finally, she noticed Professor Slughorn, a huge stack of schedules in his hands, start towards the Slytherins. Camellia quickly scanned her schedule before heading back to the dorms, murmuring a quick goodbye.

Absorbed in her schedule, Camellia collided with someone at the bottom of a flight of stairs, knocking the person over.

"Sorry!" She said quickly, helping the boy up.

"It's fine, don't worry about it." He said rather cheerfully. Camellia quirked an eyebrow. The boy had black hair that fell just above his shoulders, sharp gray eyes, and—like so many others in the school—was rather pale.

"Nice to meet you, Wheatley." He stuck out his hand, which Camellia cautiously took. "I'm Alphard Back, fourth year Slytherin."

"Er, nice to meet you as well." Camellia said slowly.

"They handing out schedules already?" Alphard asked, noticing the one in Camellia's hand.

"Yeah."

"Excellent. See you around, Wheatley." The boy hurried away, bounding up the stairs.

Shaking her head slightly—Alphard didn't seem to quite fit into the Slytherin mold—Camellia continued on her way. The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blur. She'd had double Charms right away, followed by double Potions, only to end the day with Defense.

Professor Merrythought was aptly named, being incredibly—yet somehow not obnoxiously—cheerful and optimistic. During class, however, Camellia would find herself feeling a bit uncomfortable. At the beginning of class, the professor had told the students that, as this was a NEWT level class, they were liable to see things such as they had never been allowed to see before, and would likely be frightened, disgusted, and more.

"Therefore," Professor Merrythought continued. "I am trusting that all of you will behave as the mature adults you will soon be. You will be tested in this class like nothing you've known before." With that, she tapped the blackboard, words spiraling out from where it had been hit.

"I'll be throwing you headfirst into this—today we will learn about the Unforgivable Curses."

* * *

**Ta-dah! Finally got something up. Once again, I'm ****_really _****sorry about the long wait. I got a job over the summer in the morning/afternoon, and was in a musical at night, so my days were exhausting and crammed full of stuff, which I'm not used to. And then my grandpa was really sick, and he just died...along with all of that, I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to my stories, and I...well, it wasn't really writers block, but it was. I knew what I wanted to go over, but I just couldn't get the words to come out. I'd planned for this chapter to be quite a bit longer than it is, but I figured it was long enough to post for all of you and you'd waited ****_way _****too long. :/ So there's my explanation, I hope you all weren't too mad at me, and, since for some reason I write better when I should be doing homework instead, more chapters will be coming up, though I'm not sure how soon it will be. (don't worry, there's no way I'm abandoning this story) **


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